All posts by Alex

Welcome back to An Open Vent, SSN’s recurring segment bashing anything and everything that is truly vent-worthy.

Today we examine a new song you may have heard, as well as a group of people you might just despise. No time for dilly-dallying. Let’s get right to it.

1. Pitbull’s latest single.

If you’ve turned on your radio in the past few weeks, chances are you’ve heard Time of Our Lives, the latest single from esteemed Cuban-American recording artist, Pitbull. Featuring a cameo performance by R&B singer Ne-Yo, who can’t seem to separate himself from underwhelming rappers, the catchy tune could very well be one of Pitbull’s finest pieces of work.

Like much of Pitbull’s recorded anthology, however, the lyrics to this song are completely and utterly ridiculous. Whoever pens the bastardized poetry that comprises this three-minute-forty-nine-second track deserves to scribe verses in a remedial high school English class until he or she is brought to tears by the taunts and jeers of ruthless teenagers who could easily seize this person’s job and perform just as aptly.

The internet will be inundated with Mariners fanboys ejaculating unbridled excitement over the likes of one Rickie Weeks in the coming hours. I’m not content to sit idly by and accept irrational positivity in the midst of shoulder-shrugging circumstances, so here comes a massive, throbbing counterpoint to help keep you sober in spite of the slobbering, panting statheads working to do otherwise.

First of all, if you haven’t heard the news (and god forbid you’re getting your news from these pages), your Seattle Mariners went and signed the aforementioned Weeks to a one-year, $2 million deal on Wednesday. Weeks, formerly of the Milwaukee Brewers, is a one-time All-Star who used to be among the game’s brightest young stars before a dramatic decline in 2012. The second baseman’s career was on life support through 2013, but a platoon role a season ago helped rejuvenate Weeks’ once-powerful right-handed bat.

Who is that assistant linebacker’s coach the Seahawks just hired? Why is he so important? And why is everyone so excited to have him aboard?

These are questions you may find yourself asking in the wake of the recent news about the hiring of one Lofa Tatupu, new assistant linebacker’s coach for your Seattle Seahawks. And your questions are certainly valid. How often do we really get excited about an assistant’s assistant, anyway? And why this assistant’s assistant, for that matter?

You’re very lost and confused. You’ve been a 12 since 2012, but this name rings no bells. Tatupu? Can’t remember hearing that one tossed around the water cooler at work. Fear not, good 12. Despite your relative lack of devotion to a sports franchise which you’ve blindly pledged your faith, we’re here to help. Let’s begin, shall we?

The legend of Lofa Tatupu begins precisely one decade ago, in a simpler time, before the advent of Twitter, or iPhones, or even Super Bowl XLVIII neck tattoos. It is a legend that spans just six years, and yet one that radiates as bright as the dazzling incandescence of a colossal supernova. Tatupu, you see, was a vibrant, lustrous star. But we’ll table his legend for now. Because in order to be properly introduced to greatness, one must first understand what greatness is not.

I’ll never forget the first time I ever witnessed one of my favorite sports teams endure a bitter, unexpected defeat. The date was May 7th, 1994. It was a Saturday and I was at a friend’s house. He was the catcher on our Little League team, the Orioles, and I was one of two pitchers on the squad. We’d played a game that morning, and immediately after we went back to his place to watch basketball.

Our beloved Sonics played the Denver Nuggets that afternoon, game five of the NBA’s Western Conference First Round Playoffs. The series was tied at two games apiece. Seattle had taken an early 2-0 series lead with the home court advantage. Games three and four, however, went to the Nuggets in the altitude of the Mile High City. A return to the Pacific Northwest signaled the final bout of the five-game matchup. As the number-one overall seed, the Sonics should have easily dispatched the lowly Nuggets, winners of just 42 contests in the regular season. And yet on this particular day, it wasn’t meant to be.

Because I’m still a 10-year-old at heart, I seized the opportunity to play one of my all-time favorite computer games once again.

Knowing I might not immediately possess the proper skill to conquer the Trail after a two-decade layoff, I opted to feel my way through the linear, two-dimensional world of middle America with a party of Seattle’s least-favorite sports figures. That party consisted of:

1. A young’n named “Cyler.”

2. Another young’n named “Ayala.”

3. An adolescent named “Figgins.”

4. An older fellow named “Chone.”

5. A leader named “Wakamatsu,” who we can only imagine would often fight with Chone and Figgins.

I love Marshawn Lynch. He is the curator of some of our greatest memories as sports fans and without a doubt one of the greatest athletes this city has ever seen. At this point in his decorated career, Lynch needs no colorful introduction. He is simply one of the most accomplished figures in Seattle sports history.

By contrast, I hate this incessant Marshawn Lynch versus “the media” saga that will not die. Of late, this story has spiraled to the point of fans crafting a petition to keep the NFL and the media from “bullying” Lynch by interviewing him after games. This is so incredibly stupid.

With all due respect to the San Francisco 49ers, there may be no team easier to hate than the Carolina Panthers.

Don’t believe me? I can give you three reasons why the Seahawks’ upcoming playoff opponent is worth a hefty dose of your spiteful venom. And it all starts with the quarterback…

1. Cam Newton’s fake perma-smile

Cam Newton is to football what Alex Rodriguez is to baseball. Like A-Rod, Newton is a talented superstar. Like A-Rod, Newton has ventured into his share of controversy in the past. Like A-Rod, Newton feigns obliviousness to the public’s perception of him. And like A-Rod, Newton seems to be among the most genuinely disingenuous personas in all of sports.